


That Skinner Thing: A Rebuke

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Filk, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	That Skinner Thing: A Rebuke

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

That Skinner Thing: A Rebuke by Jane Mortimer

(to my much-admir'd friends Anna, Iain, Palinurus, and sometimes torch)

That Skinner Thing: A Rebuke  
by Jane Mortimer 

Had we but world enough and time,  
This Skinner Thing would be no crime.  
I'd plead, but swallow my regrets  
Till the conversion of the hets.  
My isolated dreams would wait  
On the translation of your state;  
A hundred years at least would go  
To lovingly describe each blow;  
And every leather jockstrap too  
Would have its own erotic hue  
While scowling gaze and balding pate  
Would willing fans eviscerate.  
But at my back I always hear  
Mulder's orgasm hurtling near  
And yonder all before us lie  
Archives that have been sucked dry.  
Thy talents can no more be found  
Nor, on thy private page, may sound  
The click of Krycek's gun as he  
Examines his resiliency  
To punches that articulate  
Vows of confusion more than hate.  
Repent, before gold turns to rust  
And into ashes all my lust.  
Walt's desk's a fine and private place,  
But none, I think, do there embrace.  
Now, therefore, while the youthful glow  
Of talent, like an engine slow  
Accelerates within thy breast,  
Let not perfection take a rest.  
Let's sport with Alex while we may!  
As they, like amorous birds of prey,  
Tear pleasure from a barb'd wire fence  
And longing from ambivalence.  
And while thy willing soul transpires  
At every pore with instant fires  
Let not infernal heat be spent  
On paperwork of government  
And civil service intellects,  
Regardless of their gorgeous pecs.

Let us roll all our strength and all  
Our sweetness into one fandom,  
And pour our treasures with firm hand  
On boys who never can be bland.  
Thus, though we cannot make our work  
Get paid, yet we will make them lurk.

==========================

(And to my much-admir'd friends: I know you've written some red-hot, glow-in-the-dark Skinner stories, but I'm not going to admit that right now, because it would ruin the dramatic moment, y'know?)

\--Jane

  
Archived: April 02, 2001 


End file.
